Dec. 24 Community of Hope

                Palms West Presbyterian Church is having a Christmas Eve candlelight service so I finish up with Mary Anne a little early and start the walk over. It’s two and a half miles so it will take me just under an hour to get there.

                Within a half hour I pass the spot where I spent the night on my way up, and soon after that I am nearing the turn where I should go left to the Presbyterian church. Right on that corner though there is another building that looks intriguing. Much like Living Hope in Pennsylvania it has a contemporary design but still looks like a church. I can’t see a sign, but it’s Christmas Eve and there’s a crowd of dressed-up people going in. I know the Presbyterian church is having a service, and I already know people there, so I hesitate for a minute about experimenting with a new church sight-unseen. Eh, might as well…

                As I round the front of the building I see the sign “Community of Hope.” Hmmm… A little ambiguous, but promising. I definitely like the architecture, I remember someone mentioning that a church over this way was just built within the last year; this looks like the one. The front lot is bustling with people coming and going. According to a sign out front the first service is just ending and the second one will be starting in about 20 minutes. As I enter the door greeters are handing out flyers. I take mine, and almost pass by but the lady stops and takes a second glance.

                “Is this your first time here?”

                “Yes, it is.”

                “Oh! Welcome!” She points to the far end of the wide foyer. “Help yourself to a cup of coffee down there, it’s free. The service will be starting in just a few minutes.” I thank her and make my way across the bustling foyer. Screens mounted on the walls are flashing through announcements and showing a countdown to the service start. People are standing around drinking coffee and talking excitedly. There are comfortable chairs set up in circles and as I near the coffee bar there are tables and chairs set up like a café. The entire effect is a very comfortable, inviting atmosphere. The crowd is thicker around the coffee bar and there’s a short line. Several people introduce themselves to me and I end up talking and telling my story for a while before I get over to the counter and get a coffee. The people here sure are nice! The décor also says a lot about their cultural awareness simply because it’s not designed to look religious and churchy in the way that would intimidate some people and set a liturgical tone. The countdown on the TV screens is getting close, so I head over toward the auditorium. The ushers are handing out candles as we enter the large room. It is packed full of people and it won’t be easy to find a seat. Near the front I find an empty chair on the end of a row and settle in. Larry and his wife (a couple I just met in the foyer) are sitting right across the aisle from me. There’s a huge widescreen display above the platform and it’s flashing through the same announcements that were playing out in the foyer. On the bigger screen I can see that they aren’t just text thrown up on a flat background. Someone with very good graphical design skills has put these visuals together very professionally! That’s impressive, and like the design of the foyer, it shows a level of savvy and intentionality beyond what I normally see in religion. I haven’t heard anything about their doctrine yet, but I can see it showing through the atmosphere they have created in the place. I’m getting the feeling I’ve just stumbled across my church home, and it’s walking distance from the campground!

                The worship team steps out on to the platform and starts up. They’re good that’s for sure, and it’s songs I know and can sing along to. The leader is at the piano and he is beaming! He engages the people and truly leads with a contagious spirit of worship and celebration. This man is spiritually gifted! Later on I learn that his name is Billy Langley and he is the “Creative Arts Pastor” He not only leads the music and worship, but he’s the one who creates the professional graphics I’ve been seeing and he was even involved in the building design. Between songs they show a safety video about the candles. It’s home-made, but again surprisingly well done. The entire crowd is in stiches while the characters try to light candles with defective lighters and set each other on fire. The especial effects and editing show again that someone with significant skills in video editing has put this little video together. I haven’t even heard the preaching yet but I don’t think I’ve ever been so impressed by I church!

                When it does come time for the message, the pastor steps up and shares a beautiful Christmas message. I’ve been going about my walkabout and worrying about work, finances, security, and a place to sleep. I haven’t bought a single Christmas present and it’s been mostly over 80 degrees, so it hasn’t even felt like Christmas time, but suddenly I feel overcome with Christmas spirit and celebration for the coming of Christ to this dying world. I have tears of joy and thankfulness in my eyes. I couldn’t have asked to have found a better church and such a perfect place to live in a beautiful, rural Florida neighborhood! My life is just about perfect right now.

                

Dec 23 Mary-Anne

                The morning dawned cold and wet. My sleeping bag and the grass around me is drenched in dew. I can’t decide if skipping the tent was the right choice. I have to meet Dave at quarter to nine for church, so I hurry boiling up my breakfast and packing my things.

                When Dave picks me up I meet his wife Becky, and we head off to Palms West Presbyterian Church. They have a traditional service at 10:30, but we’re going to the 9 o’clock contemporary service. Dave says the traditional service is quite formal, so I’m glad they have two services. It’s a lovely building with beautiful floor-to-ceiling glass walls on each side of the sanctuary. In his usual jovial fashion, Dave eagerly introduces me to many of his friends. They’re certainly a friendly and joyful group of people and it’s a blessing to be surrounded by Christian family again.

When the music starts up it’s mostly songs I’ve never heard before. They aren't exactly chart-toppers. The cadence and rhythm just doesn’t flow smoothly. I’m usually a really bad judge of music; I just don’t have the refined taste to notice the subtle nuances, but even I can tell that the lady on the microphone leading the singing is not a talented singer. Maybe it’s just the songs, I don’t’ know, but something is off. When she reads through the announcements for the week I can’t detect a personality. There’s a pair of large screens displaying the words for the music, but the video guy seems to be struggling to keep the words centered on the screen or even on the correct slide. For nearly half of each song, he’s flicking through random verses and choruses trying to find what slide we’re on. For friendliness and hospitality this church gets an A+, but not so much in the media department. No biggie though, that’s not a major issue to me, but I know it often makes a strong first impression for visitors; especially in my generation and younger.

                When the young pastor steps up to the platform, the fourth Advent candle is lit and he preaches a topical sermon on the theme of the fourth candle. He has a solid exegetical style and a faithful adherence to the text. He seems like a really nice guy too, with a humble, personable attitude. The sermon closes with a chorus where we all hold hands and sing a song. There’s a half hour of refreshments and fellowship before the traditional service starts, so I meet several more of Dave’s friends and enjoy a few snacks. His wife, Becky needs to stay through the traditional service to sing in the choir, so Dave brings me back to Sunsport and drops me of at the front office.

                I’ve just got a half hour left till I have to either sign out or pay more, so I need to go find this “Mary Anne” that supposedly has some work for me. Her lot was pointed out to me earlier. It’s a large lot, actually just about the largest in the whole village. It’s hemmed in thickly by broad palm fronds. There’s a mid-sized RV and a Volkswagen camping van in the parking space. Behind them in the thick trees there’s a camper trailer that looks like it’s been parked there for 50 years. There’s a rotting deck built most of the way around it, and old cedar shingles have been nailed directly to the aluminum shell of the camper. I hear a circular saw running out back so I work my way around to find a middle aged man building a storage shed out back.

                “Is Mary Anne around?”

                “Uh, yea, she should be right inside.” He starts toward me.

                “Theresa at the office told me Mary Anne might have some work for me.” He opens the door to the camper and enters calling out her name. There’s no answer.

                “It looks like she must have gone somewhere. She’s probably not far. She’s easy to spot too. She’s the only person here with multi colored hair.”

                “Multi-colored?” He nods. “Like… natural colors?”

                “No.”

                “Okay, Thanks. I’ll see if I can find her.” As I turn around a see a large older lady pulling into the driveway in a golf car. Her grey hair is filled with highlights in purple and pink. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess this is Mary Anne.

                “Hello, Mary Anne?”

                “Yes!” Her smile is almost explosive.

                “I’m Aaron Frost, Theresa at the front desk told me you were looking for someone to do some work for you. I’m looking for work in the area, so I’m available for hire. Are you still needing someone do to that for you?

                “Why yes! Absolutely!” Wow… she’s… spunky!

                I’ve got several years’ experience in both grounds maintenance and carpentry…” she interrupts.

                “Oh, so you’re a landscaper!!” Well I didn’t exactly say that, but…

                “Yea, depending on what you want, I can probably do whatever you need.” She seems elated by this prospect and hurries me over to the far side of the camper where she wants to put in a walkway with masonry blocks. You don’t’ have to be a landscaper for that. As we round the other side of the camper there is a large addition actually constructed directly into the back side of the camper and adding nearly three times the original footprint. The back yard is overgrown with native palm shrubs and bushes. Between plants there’s a variety of items that make the lot look like a cross between an art studio and a land fill. The items are strewn and piled everywhere. Some of it looks like it’s been here since before I was born. Mary Anne explains that the spot used to belong to an artist. I can see evidence of his copper sculptures and plaster casts sticking out from underneath the overgrown vegetation. Al is working away busily on the new shed out back. As we circle the building Mary Anne points out one project after another as fast as she can talk. Within minutes it seems like she’s just suggested several months’ worth of work. She’s the kind of person who has difficulty completing her sentences. She will start talking, but get stuck on a word she can’t remember, get impatient and just jump straight to her next idea. I’d say she’s one of the most eccentric people I’ve met. Ever. As we round the next corner there’s another camper that looks even older. It’s literally rotting straight into the ground where it sits.

                “This is the main project.” She informs me. “Moorley says that if I don’t have this shed emptied and removed by the end of the month, they’re going to scoop the whole thing into a dumpster and bill me for it!” I’m thinking if I was her I’d take the offer. Next she takes me into the camper. I guess I should call it a house since it has a deck built around it, hasn’t moved in decades, and has a large addition built on to it. The inside is a rat’s nest of random things in piles from floor to ceiling with narrow pathways. She points out a flooring job that needs to be done and a tiling job in another section. I’ve definitely got some job security here!

                “So are you saying here on the resort?” She asks

                “Well, I came yesterday on the free-day pass and just rented a tent site for the night, but I wasn’t going to be able to stay unless I found work to pay for a membership. If you think you can keep me busy for a while I’ll go ahead and sign up to stay for a while.

                “Oh, you don’t need to do that. My membership allows me to have one guest for free, so you can just stay here on my lot if you like and I’ll even feed you.”

                “Well, that sounds like a really good option actually. That would save me quite a bit!”

                “Hop right in the golf cart and we’ll head over to the office to get you signed up as my guest.” Within a few minutes I am officially approved to stay at Sunsport indefinitely for absolutely no cost whatsoever! And I have a job! It’s only minimum wage, but with my living expenses covered, it’s all gravy! This is a huge answer to prayer! I never even imagined something this good working out! She treats me to lunch at the restaurant and we head back to her lot and get right to work.

She sets me up emptying an overstuffed closet and setting up shelves inside. As I unpack the closet I find a mixture of tools, supplies, food, and anything else imaginable stacked into the spot. I’ve got a feeling this is going to be one of the most interesting jobs I’ve ever had. On the list of things to do I’ve got tiling, landscaping, carpentry, gardening, and more grunt-labor than I could ever list. Mary Anne may be crazy, but she’s a cool kind of crazy and a lot of fun.

As it gets dark, I finish up for the day. My hammock goes up between two trees in her back yard and the sleeping bag lines the inside to keep me toasty until the warm sun returns in the morning. It looks like I’m set for several weeks at the very least, and by the time I’m finished up working for Mary Anne, I’ll be better established in the village and more people may ask me to do similar things for them! If I ever do run out of work, I’ll have some savings built up from having lived without rent, so I would have time to look for work at any of the farms or plant nurseries in the area while still living here. I just might end up making out quite well.

               

               

  

Dec. 22 Sunsport Gardens

                I’m awake and vaguely aware that I’m in my tent, but it’s warm in here, so I cling to the night, unwilling to admit it’s morning already. Someone straight across the road owns several roosters, and they seem to be pretty excited about sunrise; much more so than I am. Time passes, an hour, maybe two. I jolt awake to footsteps approaching outside the tent, then a voice.

                “Good morning”

                “Uh, Good morning!” I push the sleeping bag down and fumble for the tent zipper. As it open a see the man come around the tent.

                “Would you like a cup of coffee?” He’s holding out a ceramic mug that’s trailing aromatic steam behind it.                 “We saw you out here last night and were worried about you.” I laugh.

                “I’m just a weary traveler on my way through stopping for the night.”

                “I figured that was it.” He holds out the coffee with a broad smile.

                “Wow! Thank you!” I struggle free of the cocoon and start to rise.

                “You don’t have to get up.”

                “That’s fine, I’ve been awake and it’s time for me to get up.” The mug is warm in my cupped hands. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” It’s delicious and refreshing.

                “You’ve been a long way?”

                Yea, I left Miami three days ago.”

                “Miami!” He flashes the same shocked expression that I’m getting used to. I nod with a smile and take another sip of the coffee. He introduces himself. I forget the name. I tell him the two-minute version of my journey. “Well, I have to head to work. Take your time there and just leave the mug here on the ground. I’ll pick it up when I get home.”

                “Thanks! I sure do appreciate it.” We shake hands and he walks fifty feet to the pickup parked at the end of his driveway.

                Back to my routine. While I wait for water to boil for another pot of oatmeal, I eat my last orange and a few granola bars. Provisions are low. Today will determine a lot. The campground is just a couple miles down the road. It should be open by now. The chances that they need an employee right now seem slim, but maybe if I just want it enough I can will a job into existence. When the tent is folded back into its bag and my things are all packed up I finish the last few miles. Just inside the entrance there’s a small parking area and a modular office. A red-haired girl in her late thirties greets me with a bright smile.

                “Hello!”

“Hi! I’d like a day pass please.”

“Is this your first time at Sunsport?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then I can give you your first day for free.”

“I appreciate that.” She takes down my registration information while we chat. Her name is Theresa. She gives me a map and points out the main features of the resort. There’s a clubhouse building with a restaurant, workout room, lounge areas and a pool table. There’s a heated pool and hot tub, several scenic ponds, tennis and volley ball courts, children’s playground, nature trails out back, and much more. I can find out about the job situation later; right now I’m going to explore the grounds and spend a little time resorting first.

For the next few hours I walk in large circles around the campground exploring the hidden gardens and getting familiar with the main features. Everyone I meet waves to greet me and I learn more names than I can remember. There seems to be quite a few children running around playing happily. Apparently there’s several families that live here. I’ve alternated calling it a resort and a campground, but neither description really gives the right mental image. Many people live here year round or stay months at a time, and there’s a strong communal atmosphere that draws everyone together like a close-knit village. It almost feels like a commune. I’m going to fall in love with this place. At noon I order myself lunch at the little restaurant in the clubhouse. The food is good and priced very reasonably. Then it’s time to check out that hot tub. It’s glorious! I sure could get used to this! A tanned old man joins me, and I recognize him as the owner who was pointed out to me from a photo earlier in the day. He’s been a professor at many big-name universities for many years, and I hear he’s got quite a few stories to tell.

“Are you Moorley?”

“Yes, I am.” He closes his eyes as he sinks into the steaming water, and then turns back to me. I introduce myself and tell a little of my story, intentionally ending on the part about looking for a job.”

“Well, we don’t have much here this time of year. Most of our grounds work and construction is done during the summer when it’s not so busy, but you can talk to Dave. He’s the grounds manager, and he would be the one to talk to about that.” I nod.

“Thanks, I’ll ask Dave about that.”

I switch to the pool, then stretch out on a patio chair to dry off and soak up the toasty rays for a while. It’s still early afternoon when I decide to go ahead and rent a tent site for the night. That will give me until tomorrow and 11am to stay on the resort. Hopefully I can figure out what I’m doing by then.

Back over at the office Theresa puts me down for a primitive tent site and radios Dave to escort me to the plot. Good, this will give me a chance to ask him about the possibility of working here. A few minutes later he pulls up in a battery-powered golf cart and introduces himself. He’s greying man but in very good physical condition. He’s got a peaceful smile and seems like an especially pleasant person. He leads me over with his golf car and, I follow behind to my spot on the bank of a large pond in the center of the grounds. I’ll set up camp later, so I just set my things down as they are, and engage Dave in conversation telling my story and again intentionally ending on the part about me looking for work. He tells me, they are fully staffed on the resort, but that there’s many farms and plant nurseries close by that always need extra laborers. As I tell Dave more about my journey he catches on that I’m a Christian, and explains that he’s an elder at the Presbyterian church just down the road. I remember passing it on my way up, and I was intending to try visiting there, so I tell him I’ll likely see him there on Sunday If I’m still in the area.

I was kind of hoping to work and stay right on the resort, but since I already knew that wasn’t likely, the prospect of working nearby and still living cheaply on the campground is an encouraging prospect! It’s late Saturday though; it will be hard to go job hunting on Sunday, and Monday is Christmas Eve so Wednesday is the next day I’d be likely to make any progress on that. If I knew I had a job in the area, I could get a long term membership for a reasonable rate, but if I just keep paying day fees all the way through Wednesday, I might still not get a job but be all out of money. I can’t let that happen, but I’m not sure quite what to do. Should I save my money by camping out in the woods until Wednesday or count on getting a local job and just put down for long term membership right now? Well, I have till 11am tomorrow to figure out how I want to handle this pickle.

It’s getting dark, so I head back to the clubhouse. They have a free wi/fi signal so I sit in the dining room and catch up on communications and other lose ends. I turn on my phone and plug it in to charge. I’ve got a voicemail message! It’s from Theresa and the front office. She says a lady named Mary Anne was asking about someone to hire to do a bunch of labor around her lot. That would be great! Theresa left the message several hours ago though and the office is closed now. I ask around for Mary Anne. Everyone knows her, but no one knows where she is now. I’ll have to see if I can find out more about that in the morning. Dave comes by the spot where I’m sitting with my computer.

“Would you like a ride to church in the morning?” I had forgotten that tomorrow was Sunday already!

“Sure! That would be great!”

It’s late when I pack up my computer and walk over to my campsite. The night air is unusually cold for Florida. They’re saying it will warm up again in a few days and be balmy the rest of the winter, but it’s quite chilly tonight. I’d like to set my tent up, but I feel secure on the campground and I’d really like to get to sleep as soon as possible, so I just roll my mat and sleeping bag out on the grass. Stretching out on my back I stare up at a million stars in the clear sky. It’s a half-hour before my sleeping bag warms up and my mind is busy with concerns about work, money, and living, but for tonight I’m safe, dry, and content.

Nov. 21 Ready to Find a New Home.

                I woke up feeling well rested. There’s only 25 miles left to my destination, so if I make decent time I should be able to arrive this evening. I take my time boiling up some instant oatmeal and eating a few oranges for breakfast. Once the tent is broken down and everything is stowed away I continue down the old side walk. My route, 441, continues on as straight as an arrow as far as I can see with no distinguishing features except the occasional false roadway that leads to nowhere. By 3pm the chafing under my sweaty clothes is back and my feet are sore. I’d like to take a break, but aside from flat ground there hasn’t been a place to sit all day. When I come to another one of the false roadways, I notice that the culvert beneath it creates a place to sit, so I slump down for an overdue break. I eat two oranges, some trail mix, a few granola bars, and a couple bread rolls. I enjoy sitting there for a few extra minutes, but those miles won’t walk themselves.

                When I get up and turn around there’s a man stepping out of a pickup truck right behind me! I didn’t hear him pull in so I don’t know if he just pulled in or was waiting for me to finish eating. I call out as he walks up to me.

                “Hello!”

                “Hey, on my way to work this morning I saw you camping by the side of the road and I just wanted to stop and give you something and wish you a merry Christmas.” He hands me a 20 dollar bill.

                “Wow, thank you! That’s very thoughtful!”

                He tells me about a group of friends he’s part of that was inspired by one of their members who fell on hard times, so now they try to look for people to help out and when he saw me walking he decided to stop and give me the gift. I tell him about my journey and give him the card with my blog information. And after a few minutes of walking he drives off and I continue on down the road. The hours continue passing and I head through the city of Wellington This is an upscale area and there are lots of high-end gated communities that look like they would cost a fortune. I’m definitely looking for something on the simpler side of life, so I keep walking.

                Before long I’m back out in the country again and it’s getting dark. I’m almost to the campground, so I finally leave 441 where I’ve been walking for nearly 50 miles. I turn onto a dirt road that runs parallel to a man-made irrigation canal. It’s dark, but it seems like I’m in a farming area. By 9pm I’m within a few minutes of the campground, but I expect the office will be closed at this hour, so I decide start looking for a place to spend the night.

                Eventually, I notice a patch of mowed grass away from the road but tucked away where it doesn’t look like I’d be camping on anyone’s front lawn. I’m starving so the first thing is to get myself something to eat, but I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep too. Once the tent is set up I settle in to my sleeping bag for the night. I’ll be arriving at the campground tomorrow morning. It’s more than a campground, it’s more like a commune but with facilities like a rustic resort. There are fees for tenting or RV sites and a day fee or membership to pay for use of the facilities, but the first day is free, so that will give me a chance to ask around about a job and enjoy the pool, hot-tub, and nature trails for a day. I’m hoping they need a grounds or maintenance guy, but if they’re not, maybe I can get a job at some of these farms in the area and still live on the resort. When I first set out on the walkabout, I had a purpose to walk the east coast of the western hemisphere, but now I’m just looking for a place to spend some time until I figure out the next step of my life. That takes the romance out of walking mile after mile. I just want to find someplace comfortable and settle for a little while. Tomorrow I’ll find out if I can stay here or if I’ll have to keep moving, but tonight is for sleep.

Dec. 20 Leaving the City

                

                When the McDonalds closed at midnight I had changed into a dry pair of jeans and was feeling a little rested after being of my feet for several hours. Some sleep wouldn’t hurt, but I don’t plan on doing that in this area, so I head off into the dark. I feel sore and creaky, but the night air is much cooler. The traffic is also much lighter and there’s fewer people on the sidewalk, so aside from being tired from a long day of walking, the conditions are ideal for walking.

                By 4:00am I’m dealing with chaffing and blistering on my feet and under the pack straps. Re-adjusting only works for so long as the pain increases. I’m exhausted too and I feel like I could fall asleep standing up. I walk several more miles hoping for some secluded corner where I might be able to tuck myself away for a couple hours of sleep without being noticed, but this area is densely developed. Finally I see a patch of large bushes up against a chain-link fence. There’s a natural hollow behind the bushes, so I pull my cart in far enough so that it can’t be seen from outside. This is a perfect little place to hide away for a couple hours, but suddenly I see movement and a man at the far end rolls over and looks at me for a second before curling back up. Drat! The spot is already taken and I’m not comfortable falling asleep next to someone I don’t know. I pull the cart back out to the roadway and keep going. After another ten minutes of walking I see another small patch of bushes a few feet of the road. I duck my head in and look around to see if anyone is home. It’s empty except there’s beer cans strewn everywhere and it smells like urine. The idea of sleeping here is repulsive, but I’m too spent to care as much as I normally would. There isn’t enough space to pull my cart completely out of sight, but I pull it in as far as I can and sit down with my back up against it. Without even taking the backpack off, I slump there in the straps. It’s nowhere close to comfortable, but I can hardly move. I sit there for about a half-hour resting, but even as tired as I am the road noise from the four-lane road 20 feet from my head is disturbing and it’s not comfortable enough for me to sleep propped up like that with no place to rest my head but I can’t bring myself to lay down on the filthy ground where homeless drunks have been throwing up and urinating. I’ve only got about two hours left till daylight, so I’m running out of time to get a little sleep before the next day starts. I suddenly remember that I have my sleeping mat. I don’t need it for cushioning, but it will keep me off the dirt. I pull it out of the pack and roll it out.

                It’s nearly 9:00 when I’m aware of the sunlight and people walking by. I can’t say I slept very well, but it was something and I definitely feel better than I did when I laid down. After stowing the mat, I strap on my pack and push the cart back onto the sidewalk. Hopefully by tonight I’ll finally be out of the city. I’m charting a course for Sunsport Gardens, a campground inland of Palm Beach. Their tenting rates are reasonable and the area looks like a strong potential for jobs. There’s still two days of walking though.

                I head off and the day passes one mile at a time. My cart tires have slowly been getting spongy, but the gas station pumps all want to charge a dollar. As a matter of principle I refuse to pay a dollar for air, but as I pass a little auto-repair shop I notice they’ve got air hoses, so I walk up to a mechanic.

                “Hey, my tires are getting low on air, could I fill up here?”

                “Sure! We can help you out! Pull that right over here.” The clean one directs one of the grease monkeys to help me fill up and within seconds I’m at full pressure again. I thank them and continue on. I should have thought of that weeks ago! At least now I know how to get free air.

                By mid-afternoon the landscape has changed from run-down city to wilderness and a lot of farmland. The road is as busy and wide as a major freeway, but about a hundred feet from the road is an old paved sidewalk that stretches parallel to the road in a perfectly straight line as far as the eye can see. I’ve never seen a rural road like this with a sidewalk before, but I’m not complaining. Periodically there is a paved turn off from the main road complete with stop signs and curbs, but it ends immediately and goes nowhere. It looks like this area was prepared for development but then never developed. It goes on like this for miles and miles without any distinguishing features. With the stop signs and curbs and sidewalk the complete absence of people makes it feel like a ghost town. About an hour after sunset it becomes pitch black so that I can’t even see well enough to keep on the sidewalk, so I pull out my headlamp. I’m really enjoying these walking conditions. I’m safely away from moving traffic, I’m on a nice even sidewalk, and I haven’t seen a building or another person in nearly five hours.

                It’s nearly tomorrow when I see lights up ahead for a couple commercial buildings. I’m getting tired but I don’t want to get back into anyplace populated, so I decide to stop for the night. There’s no trees to hang my hammock on, but there’s a hundred feet of roughly mowed grass between the sidewalk and the road so it’s perfect for tenting. I haven’t used my tent since the first few days of the walkabout in Maine, so I have to pull it out from the very bottom of my cart. After a few minutes of assembly I zip myself inside and stretch out in the sleeping bag. The grass beneath me is soft and comfortable, the sleeping bag is warm despite the cool night air, and the tent keeps the bugs out. It’s going to be nice to get a good, peaceful night’s sleep for the first time in quite a while.

Dec. 19 Confrontations in the Ghetto

                From Dunkin’ Donuts I put directions into my GPS for Royal Palm Beach. It from Google earth it looks like an upscale neighborhood with several large golf courses, but it also borders on a bunch of rural land that looks pretty barren, so that’s the mixture I’m looking for. It’s a good sixty miles though, I won’t be there tonight, maybe not even tomorrow, but here I go, one foot in front of the other.

                I’m just started off when a bike and a familiar figure pulls up beside me.

                “Baywatch! I’m really glad to see you man! I just heading out of the area right now.” He’s got his bucket of random things hanging from the handlebars of the bike, a tall beer can in the basket with a straw sticking up out of it, and a half-smoked joint of marijuana hanging from his lips.

                “Where y’ goin’ man?”

                “Just north I guess, it’s too ghetto for me here and I’ve been running into trouble at Haulover. I gotta bounce.”

                “Really? Trouble at Haulover?

                “Yea, a few park employees have been on my case about stayin’ there, and the job situation isn’t looking too promising. I’m just ready to move on.” He tells me about some other good parks I might be more comfortable in and also tells me about several soup kitchens that operate on different days of the week and what homeless shelters offer the best services. I have to say I’m impressed. My boy is seriously street-smart! Still, I’ve already committed and on my way out, so I’m not going to change my mind now.

                “Do you know where t’old Monastery is?” He asks me.

                “The thousand-year Spanish Monastery up by Biscayne?”

                “Yea man! That’s t’one. Every Wednesday t’ey give out a free meal t’ere. I’m headed over right now. You should come!”

                “Maybe I will; that sounds good.”

                “I’ll see you t’ere then.” He gives me an imperative index finger with a twinkle in his eye and a wide smile on his large, chiseled jaw. He relights his pot and rolls slowly out ahead of me on his old-fashioned blue bike. This guy is a special case. I wish I had more time to get to know him better.

                I’m contemplating whether I really want to go to the soup kitchen. It will set me back an hour or more, and I was really hoping to make some good progress today. The free lunch would be kind of nice though, and it might give me a chance to hang out with Baywatch a little more. I’d been wanting to see that Spanish monastery too. I’m not in a rush, and this is what the adventure is all about, so I decide to go.

                Twenty minutes later I’m pulling up to the main entrance of the Monestery. There’s a sign for some denomination that still holds weekly services there. I’m guessing they’re the ones running the soup kitchen. As I roll up I can see several other people standing around. I recognize several of them as other homeless people that I’ve seen hanging around the parks and beaches. It’s a motley crowd that’s for sure. Most of them fit the homeless stereotype to a ‘T’. There’s a Caucasian man standing by the doorway looking out over the crowd with an air of authority.

                “Wait ten more minutes.” He tells me. “They are not ready yet.” He speaks with a Spanish accent and I mean from Spain, not Latino. “You can put your things in the garage over there.” He points to a corner behind a couple small palm bushes. I don’t see a garage, but there’s small foot gate so maybe it’s through there. I walk up to the gate and give it a tug, but it doesn’t even wiggle. It’s jammed shut like it’s a permanent fixture. I turn around looking for the Spaniard in confusion.

                “Who can I…” another man standing by helps me out.

                “Just anywhere in this corner here is fine.”

                “He calls this a ‘garage’?” I motion to the open corner behind the balm bushes.

                “Yea.” The man and I laugh at the Spaniard’s version of English. Actually I remember that from Senegal and a little in India as well. In European English a “garage” can be any kind of storage area, even if there isn’t a building or structure of any kind. I park my gear and look around to see if I can find Baywatch. I stop a young black man walking past me. He’s got dreadlocks coming from under his skull-cap and shorts and t-shirt easily double his size.

                “Hey man, do you know Baywatch?” The hoodlum turns his head sideways and leers at me suspiciously. Clearly he knows Baywatch, but I’ve apparently asked a loaded question.

                “Naw, man. Ah don’ know, no Baywatch.” Can you call it lying when it’s this obvious?

                “Yea, he’s a friend of mine, I was just…” Suddenly the hoodlum takes a step straight towards me and stops with his nose two inches from mine.

                “What do you NEEEEEED man??” I fight the impulse to cower back. He’s got a strong odor of beer coming from his yellowed teeth, but I stand my ground and hold position toe-to toe with him. I motion toward the soup kitchen.

                “I was just…” He cuts me off and his shifty eyes get even shiftyer

                “No, what do you NEEEED!” I narrow my eyes and close the two inches down to one.

                “Are you going to let me finish this time?” He shifts his weight backward and almost breaks eye contact. He’s apparently reached the end of his sales pitch, and falls silent. I continue “I was saying, I’m just here because I heard about the free meal.”

                “You sure you don’t want no pot, heroine, koke… anything like that?” He seems a little disappointed.

                “Naw man, I’m not on that scene.”

                “I got whateva’ ya need in ma pockets right here, man! I can hook ya up a deal too!”

                “Fraid not, dude. That’s not my style.”

                “That’s good man! Way to be.” He swings his hand back and comes at me with a ghetto-style handshake. “That’s real good. You clean; I respect that.” That’s not exactly what I pride myself in most of all, but hey, I’ll take compliments where I can get them.

                “Hey,” Suddenly, his shifty eyes narrow again and he leans in close again with his alcoholic breath. “You wanna make some MONEY??” I laugh incredulously.

                “Not THAT kind of money.” I try to be assertive, but he’s trying too.

                “DO YOU WANT TO MAKE SOME MONEY??” He’s not backing down easy, but his temptation is proving inadequate on me.

                “Not that kind of money!” I’m keeping the chummy, light tone with him, but I’m pretty sure my mind is made up about the option of a career as a dope pusher. That’s not exactly how I want to invest in the youth of America. Then again, it might be a quick remedy to the homeless situation.

                “Do you want a job?” He’s not the quickest rodent in the maze.

                “Not that kind of job?”

                “You don’t even have to do nothin’. No money down. No risk. You get me people; I put money in yo pocket!” I just laugh and shake my head.

                “You talkin’ to th’ wrong brutha homie. I’m jus’ not down.” It helps to speak fluently in the native tongue.

                “Aight, man!” He swings his hand out for another exaggerated ghetto handshake, and finishes it with a gansta’ thumb-hook and a fist bump. “You’re cool, man. I like you!” I shrug with an apologetic smile. What can I say. “But hey, if you change yo mind, le’ me know, kay?”

                “Sure man,” I give him another incredulous laugh. “I’ll let you know.”

                By now I’ve seen Baywatch across the parking lot, but they’re calling for us to line up by the soup tables, so everyone migrates over to form a line. Two grown adults are arguing like three-year olds about which one was ahead of the other in line. Both are less than five down from first. I don’t think anyone’s going to starve. The Spaniard shorts it out and steps in front of the mangy assembly gathered at the entrance. With his authoritative, booming voice he calls everyone to order and goes through a few rules for orderly conduct. He mentions some other resources for job placement, shelters, and food pantries and then reads an entry from the “My Daily Bread” devotional. It’s about making our prayers specific rather than vague. I’m not sure it’s the most relevant topic for the gentry at hand, but it beats an episode of the Simpsons, I guess. We finish up by reciting a two-line rhyme that approximates a thanksgiving prayer and a blessing on the food.

                A line of ladies stand behind a folding table and dish out soup and plates with cole-slaw, a McDonalds hamburger, and a boxed slice of pudding pie. At the end of the line they give us a plastic bag with a dozen or so rolls. As I step away from the line the Spaniard approaches me.

                “Are you from up north?” I have no idea how he knew that, but I tell him I am from Maine and that I’m just passing through the area but heard about the soup-kitchen earlier this morning. We chat cordially for a few minutes until he suggests that I take an available seat where I can keep a close eye on my belongings. He’s keenly aware of the kind of crowd we have today. I sit on the stump and polish of the food in short order. It’s all better than I might have expected for a free meal. After a few stragglers come through they offer seconds to finish up the last of the soup, so I get another bowl. When that’s gone, I decide I’d like to tour the thousand-year old monastery, but the entrance fee is 8 bucks. Naw, that would completely cancel out the free meal. I can almost eat for a week on 8 dollars, so I’ll pass on the monastery. I head over to where Baywatch is hanging with some of our fellow bums. He tells me he doesn’t use computers or go online, but when I tell him about my blog he’s still interested in getting the address, so I give him one of the business cards that I had made up. The card impresses him and he asks me to make a personalized and dated autograph out to him on the back of it.

                “You’re like the real-life Forest Gump man! This is going to be worth money some day!” I love this guy!

                With a final good-bye I get back on the road. I’m headed to Wal-Mart to pick up some things there. It’s boiling hot out and I’ve got sweat streaming down my face. I should pick up a small hand-towel to hang from the cart handlebar so that I can wipe sweat from my face. It’s actually burning my eyes right now and making it hard to see. A little more food for the trip wouldn’t hurt either. After locking my cart to a bike rack outside I head in, and twenty minutes of browsing finds me with a cheap bath-towel, and hand towel, a gallon jug of Gatorade, a bag of tangerines, and a pint of ice-cream. Back outside I stow the supplies in my cart. I tuck the bath towel in the back of my jeans to absorb sweat and the hand towel gets lashed to the handlebar. I take a few swigs of the Gatorade and polish off the ice cream. All that’s left now is a long day of trudging through the Florida heat.

                I pass through a couple up-scale neighborhoods. One place has a pink van parked out front labeled as a mobile pet-grooming service. Someone has too much money! The up-scale doesn’t last for long though. When I come out of the neighborhood onto route 441 I’m obviously on the other side of the tracks. I’ll be following this road for the next fifty miles and it looks like it’s going to be ghetto the rest of the way.

                After several hours of walking everything I’ve seen is run-down, falling apart, and old. This area is marked as “Hollywood” on the map. Within a few blocks I pass four adult video stores, more smoke shops and liquor stores than I can count and the biggest casino I’ve ever seen in my life! The place is exploding with brilliant laser lights and lit up fountains and it’s got a humongous megatron TV screen that wraps around three exterior walls of the massive parking garage! I’d like to play a couple rounds of Modern Warfare on that display! Wow! In a town that otherwise looks like East Berlin this casino stands out as a high-tech palace. How do people not realize that all this is paid for by the money they come and lose without getting any product in return? It’s been dark for an hour or two now; normally I’d be looking for a place to spent the night, but even though I’m getting tired and my knees are sore, I’m not interested in sleeping anywhere near this area. The whole city makes my skin crawl! I need to get off my feet for a while though, so a large McDonalds up ahead is a welcome sight. If they’ve got outlets and free wi-fi I’ll park there for a while and do a little blogging while I give my feet a rest.

                Considering the condition of the rest of the town, the McDonalds is a very nice building, clean and spacious. A welcome reprieve.

                “You look like you’ve been walking a long time!” The lady behind the counter looks me over, but I think she saw me leaving my luggage outside too.

                “Yea, I started out in Miami this morning.”
                “You walked all the way from Miami? Wow, that’s a long way! How far are you going?” I have to pull out my phone to double check.

“I’m headed up toward the West Palm Beach area.”

“Wow, that’s a long distance!” I nod agreement and look at the menu options.

                “I’ll take two hamburgers and a tap water please.” As I fish out some cash I pull out one of my cards too and hand it to her. “I write about my travels and stories on this blog here, you can check it out if you’re interested.”

                “Yea, sure!” She takes the card.

                “I’ve been well over two-hundred miles with that pack and cart so far.”
                “That’s amazing!”

                “I’m just going to sit down here and write on my blog for a little while.”
                “Are you going to write about me?”

                “Sure, what’s your name?”

                “Shawn.”

                “Well, I’ll definitely write about you then.” When my burgers are ready, I find a seat next to a power outlet and settle in to write.

                And that brings me to now. It’s 10pm on the nose. My clothes were soaked with sweat when I walked in, but they are mostly dry now. Maybe I can get a fresh outfit and change in the bathroom. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to walk through most of the night and some clean clothes would feel great. The McDonalds doesn’t close till midnight, so I think I’ll just sit right here and rest until then. There’s an extremely drunk man at the counter harassing the cashier. Maybe it’s time I order something more. I step up behind him. He’s swearing and making inappropriate comments at the manager.

                “Excuse me sir, you’re going to have to leave.” She demands. He argues and gripes but doesn’t move. My turn.

                “It’s time to move on man.” He turns on me and lunges forward. I brace myself and lock eyeballs with him. He would have smacked tight into me, but the bill of his baseball cap presses into my forehead and holds our faces apart.

                “What did you say?” I thought the hoodlum had bad breath, but this old man is sloshed out of his mind. He’s leaning his weight against me now and the bill of his hat is digging into my forehead.

                “I said, it’s time to move on.” I repeat myself with the same soft, even tone. The manager looks alarmed by the confrontation and pipes in again.

                “Sir, there’s the door, you’re going to have to leave.” He tries to perform the same lunge at her, but smacks into the counter that she’s standing behind. My turn again

                “They’re going to call the police if you don’t leave.” He lunges back at me and smacks his hat against my forehead again until I’m holding him up by the bill that’s digging into my forehead. I don’t flinch. “I’m trying to help you out here.” I say in a low whisper. “I’m trying to take care of you. You haven’t been taking very good care of yourself have you?” His hard jaw softens, he leans back, and his shoulders droop. He looks like he’s about to start crying.

                “I’m an old man.” His lips quiver. “My life is all spent up.”

                “No it’s not you’ve got plenty of…

                “Sir! You need to leave now!” The manager is getting impatient. He lunges back toward her but he’s already forgotten about that pesky counter that keeps getting in the way. I just stand in front of him and put my arms out like a goalie. He keeps yelling at the manager about how he fought two wars so that she could have a job. I keep in front of him and walk towards the door forcing him backward until he gives up and storms out. Wow, and I thought my excitement was mostly over for the day! When I sit back down I realize I’m shaking from adrenaline. I really was afraid for a minute there that the guy was going to try to sucker-punch me. Drunk or not, he was clearly stronger than me and could have done some damage. It would have made a great blog entry, but I’d really prefer not to get beat up tonight.

                On that note, I think I’ll close up and post this before anything else happens. I’ve had enough for one day. In just over an hour it will be tomorrow, so I’ll save the rest for the next post.

                Here’s a question for the comments section below:
                “How do you handle confrontations?” Be it drunks, drug-pushers, or whatever kind of people try to push in on your space and pressure you to do things their way, what do you find works and what doesn’t work when you respond to that? Tell me about a confrontation you’ve had or how you usually handle people like that.

Dec. 14-19 Moving On

I’m sitting at Dunkin’ Donuts. I’m supposed to be walking, but my phone battery was already down to 60% which isn’t enough to last me the day and I don’t know when I’ll get to recharge again. I wanted to stop in at Dunkin’ one last time anyway, so I might as well, and I’ve just got a short block of time here while my phone is charging. I’ll do my best to fill in the highlights of the last few days.

                The last blog left off with Tuesday evening. I went back to the pavilion in Haulover that night but I was awakened at 2am by a park employee telling me that the park was closed and that if I didn’t leave I would get arrested. I assured him that I’d spoken with other park employees and police officers who had all told me that I had a right to be here and would, in fact, not be arrested. He backed off and left me alone, so I finished out the night, but even if I technically have a right to be there, I’m uncomfortable if I know I’m not welcome. Then, as I was finishing up my breakfast, another park employee pulled up beside the pavilion and told me that the pavilions were only available for rent by reservation and that I needed to use the other picnic tables. This is a fact that is actually clearly posted on signs, so I knew she was completely right about that. The other thing is, she’s an employee who I’ve seen around the park often, so she knows I’ve been making a regular habit of spending the night here, so this was her subtle way of dropping a hint that I need to move on. I don’t want to cause any trouble, so I figured it was time for me to get scarce.

                So I headed back over to the North Beach area on Friday. The next several days were spent sleeping in the patch of trees behind the North Shore library and spending the days in the library waiting to hear back from Indian Creek Country Club. I enjoyed another lovely Sunday at Calvary Chapel Miami Beach.

On Monday I determined that I shouldn’t be wasting time waiting to hear back from Indian Creek, but that I really ought to be applying to other places while I was waiting. So, that day at the library, I started looking up phone numbers for some of the other local golf courses, but I couldn’t bring myself to call any of them. The problem was that I really didn’t want to get hired here. I’m feeling more and more that I just don’t want to be in this area. The trouble I’ve had trying to save money by living homeless, is difficult here because it’s so urban. If I do get a job and try to look for a better living situation, rent in this area is far more than I’d be willing to pay even for the tiniest studio apartment. I give up looking in this area and instead spend the day exploring other areas on Google Earth.

Monday night it was after midnight when I rolled my cart into the patch of trees and I was just about to start setting up my hammock when I noticed several new beer cans around that hadn’t been there that morning. I try to keep the area clean, so that I don’t get blamed for trashing it, and I know I’d left it clean that morning. Then I noticed a man passed out on the ground laying in the dirt right where I usually hang my hammock. I really don’t like the idea of sharing the space with a drunk who’s going to wake up hung-over. If he wakes up before me, I worry that he might try to get into my things and walk off with something.

                “Open Space Park” is nearby. That’s the one with the “No Trespassing” signs where I drank from the fountain that one night and got surrounded by half the police department and questioned for thirty minutes. Also, this late at night all the gates to the park are closed and padlocked, but as an adept homeless bum, I happen to know that there’s no fence on the beach side. It’s late and I’m exhausted, so as much as I don’t like the idea of getting in trouble again, I head over there. I find a couple trees to hang my hammock on and sling it up. I’m going to be very conspicuous when the sun comes up, and likely get a lecture from somebody, but at this point I’m ready for that as long as I can get a few hours of sleep first. Unfortunately the two trees are just a little too close together, so the hammock bunches me very uncomfortably. Also the temperature drops just low enough to be uncomfortable. I doze off a few times but only in short naps and when the sun rises I feel like I haven’t slept at all. Yea, I’m pretty sure I’m ready to relocate out of this area. Ideally, I’d like to find an area that wasn’t already overrun by the kind of homeless people who are homeless because they’re lazy, brain-fried, drunks. I’d prefer an area where I could disappear into some woods at night and not worry about being run off by the authorities or robbed.

                Tuesday night I head back over to Calvary Chapel for the men’s Bible study. It’s good to have a chance to say good bye to several of the friends I’ve made. Renzo, Peter, and Herb have especially been a blessing to me and an encouragement just by treating me with the love and kindness of Christ. We close the meeting with prayer and the men gather around me to lay hands on me and pray for safety, blessings, and provision as I continue on my journey.

                Thankfully there’s no drunk passed out in my spot this night. Sleep has been sparse for several nights in a row now so I’m really looking forward to getting as much rest as I can. I’ve got a little wine left; that should help knock me out for the night so I polish it off and drift away.

                I wake up cold at 4:30. I could try to doze for a couple more hours, but I know it’s not going to be quality sleep. Besides, I’m eager to get an early start walking before traffic picks up. I take my time packing up my sleeping bag in the dark and boiling up a generous pot of oatmeal to get me going. Without ceremony, I’m back on the road. I am passing through Haulover when the sun rises, so as I walk down the beach I watch the orange sun come up out of the Atlantic and separate itself from the water like an upside down droplet of fire. A half hour later I’m passing Dunkin’ Donuts again, and my phone battery isn’t going to last the day, so here I am. While I’ve written this, my battery has fully charged. It’s almost ten. I’m a little out of shape after almost a month of staying in the same area, so I’m not sure how far I’ll get today, but here I go.

Even when I go several days without posting to the blog, I often post updates and details to the Facebook page, so for anyone who isn’t already following my Facebook page that can be seen here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Walkabout-the-Word/121270251358199

Go there and give it a “like” to see up-to-the-minute updates in your newsfeed as well as photos that I upload on the go.

Sunday in North Beach (Video)

Here's a few clips cobbled together from last Sunday. I'm sorry about the excessive wind and background noise, I left my nice camera with the nice microphone in Maine, so I'm using a point-and-shoot camera.

To see the video in a larger screen, you can go see it on YouTube by clicking this link: http://youtu.be/_3uDt7qdj_o

Dec. 10-13 Angela

                I woke up in the hammock on Monday morning a little wet. It had rained during the night. The hammock will wrap all the way over me and close me in like a cocoon, but the nylon isn’t water proof. I’ll have to put a tarp up next time if I’m going to spend any more nights in this spot. Maybe I can explore around the area and find another covered pavilion like the one up in Haulover. The library doesn’t open until 10, so I take my time getting up and fixing breakfast. I can see people walking by on the trail that follows the shoreline down from Open Space park.

                When the library opens I lock my cart and pack to a pole outside and head in. It still isn’t very big, but it’s not as noisy as the other one I visited. I find a spot for my laptop at a table and settle in. After catching up on Facebook and email I watch a TV show to help me build up motivation for some studying. Before long it’s 6. The library is closing and that breakfast wore off a long time ago. It’s just barely getting dark when I step from the air-conditioned library into the muggy evening heat. The night it still young and I’d like to explore this new area a little. I strap on my pack and start pushing my cart, but immediately feel very awkward and out of place. This is a bustling shopping area and I feel self-conscious like this with everyone staring at me. I’m nervous about leaving my things unguarded, but I’d also like to go into these shops and look for a few supplies. I finally lock my cart to a tree and just pray no one disturbs it.

                It does feel great to walk around freely and blend into the crowd of people. This entire street is like a cross between an American mall and an open air market in South America. I step into a grocery store but if feels like I’m in Mexico. The isles are narrow and crowded, the cashiers are singing along to Latino hits on the intercom and half the products are labeled in Spanish. Cool!!! I get myself a pint of chocolate ice cream and head back out onto the street. I eat the ice cream with a plastic spoon and continue down the strip of shops. A few miles south the shops thin out to residences. From Google maps, I recognize the southern end of the trail that runs past my camping spot, so I get on it and walk back up along the beach. When I get back up to the library I find my things as I left them and wheel it over to my little seaside patch of trees. It’s breezy and warm, and feels like it could rain again tonight. Honestly, it randomly showers anytime without warning, so I really ought to be prepared regardless of what the sky looks like. I’m tempted to just sleep uncovered in the hammock like before, but even if it doesn’t rain tonight, I don’t want to wait and try to figure out a rain-shelter solution some night in the middle of a downpour. I really should try to figure this out now and be prepared. Once the hammock is set up I pull out my small tarp and fold it over the top and hook weights into the grommets to hold the bottom down. It looks like a blue sheet folded in half over a clothesline. It definitely isn’t an elegant solution; I’m not sure it’s even a solution. The wind is blowing in sporadic gusts and the whole thing flaps loudly and wildly in the wind. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to sleep inside that or even if it would keep the rain out if it did rain. I climb in and try to sleep but the contraption I’ve rigged up flaps around violently in the wind and makes a lot of noise. The weights holding down the bottom corners occasionally swing around in the wind and hit me in the face. I pull out my phone and read an e-book for a few hours hoping to get tired. When I go back to trying to sleep it still isn’t working. It’s 3am when I finally decided to try something different. When I turn the tarp to an angle, the corners reach further so that I get better coverage in case of rain and then I tie down the other two corners with ropes so that they don’t make so much noise and whip against the hammock. This makes a sort of diamond-shaped tent over the hammock. It still makes a lot of noise in the wind, but not nearly as much as before and it’s a lot more stable. Before long I’m fast asleep and when I wake up again a few hours later I’m in the middle of a sudden torrential downpour. I lay there with a large grin staring up through the blue tarp at the heavy drops of rain beating down at me and streaming harmlessly in serpentine rivulets. The heavy shower only lasts a few minutes, but it’s enough that it would have soaked me through if I hadn’t gone to the trouble of setting up the tarp. Thank you Lord! I curl back up in the hammock and sleep like a rock well into Tuesday’s daylight.

                Tuesday is spent mostly in the library again, but I make an effort to study more and waste less time. When the library closes at 6, I head across the street to the market where I bought the ice-cream yesterday. I haven’t eaten since breakfast again, so I try out the rice bar and get a large serving of Spanish rice, with chicken, and mashed potatoes. It comes in a foam tray and even as hungry as I am it’s more than I can finish at once. Besides, the men’s Bible study is starting at 7:00 over at the church and I’ve been looking forward to that, so I better get walking. I stash the remaining rice in my pack and make the short trip across the island to the Calvary Chapel.

                I find several men standing around and talking inside the church. I recognize one guy who I saw on Sunday and he tells me his name is Renzo. The men’s class is going through a video series on financial management. Considering I live mostly hand-to-mouth the investment and budgeting advice is mostly lost on me but several principles still apply. After the video we get into an engaging discussion about tithing in the New Testament age. As people say good-night and disperse for the night I meet the group leader, Herb, and talk with him for a few minutes. He's not actually the usual leader, but Carl is away tonight and asked Herb to fill in. He's a bubbly personality with beaming joy. He listens with amazement as I tell about my journey and the places I’ve been. He’s shocked when he learns I’m sleeping outdoors.

“Stay here a second!” He says and disappears into the next room. When he comes back he’s got Renzo in tow. “Renzo, has some extra space and can put you up for the night.”

“Thanks, that’d be great! I appreciate it.”

“It won’t be very comfortable,” Renzo tells me, “but you’ll be inside.” Renzo doesn’t have a car so Herb offers to give us a ride over to Renzo’s apartment. There isn’t room for my cart and pack. I’m worried about leaving it here outside the church all night, but that’s the only option. I pull out my computer bag to take with me and stuff a night-bag inside. At least if my stuff gets stolen, I’ll still have a computer and a toothbrush.

The leader drops us off at the base of one of the high-rise apartment towers. We’re probably 20 floors up when we get off and walk down the hall to Renzo’s door. His apartment is a tight bedroom with a bathroom and a closet. It’s already past his bed time and he has to be up by 5 to allow time for him to get to his job in the morning, so we waste little time getting to sleep. He offers me a sleeping bag to roll out on the floor.

The alarm goes off at 5 and I roll up the sleeping bag. Renzo escorts me down to the lobby and gives me directions back to the church. It’s still night and the city isn’t awake yet as I make the trip back praying my things are still where I left them. Within a half hour I see the church and find my things undisturbed. Well, at least undisturbed by people. A family of little ants has found my leftover rice and my cart is filled with millions of them. I was really looking forward to finishing that Spanish rice! It’s not like the ants have actually damaged anything, and I’m sure I wouldn’t notice the difference if I could get past them mentally… I scoop most of them out and dig in. I was right, there’s no noticeable difference and it really doesn’t bother me to think that there might be a tiny ant or two mixed in there. Lots of people enjoy ants on purpose, why should I let a few little ones keep me from that delicious Spanish rice that I paid $4 for? No good reason. All my other food is packaged or Zip-locked, so nothing else is disturbed even though the cart is swarming with ants.

I stand there in the early-morning darkness for several minutes trying to decide what to do. It’s not even 6am yet. I’m still pretty tired; that was a short night, but I don’t really feel like it’s worth going back and setting up my hammock. The library doesn’t open until noon today. I’m thinking I’d really like to look up some new Greek study material online, but I’m not sure if it’s worth waiting around till noon. Most of all right now I'm just tired, so I walk over to North Shore Open Space Park and find a secluded picnic table and lay down on the bench. It’s not exactly comfy but I still snooze for several hours. I wake to someone thumping my boot. It’s a cop. He’s pulled his cruiser up beside the picnic table and he’s staring down at me. I snap awake and sit up quickly trying not to sound hung-over.

“Good morning sir!”

“Good morning there. Everything alright here?”

“Yes sir, I was just kickin’ back for a break.”

“Sure, sure, I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. When we see people laying down we just like to make sure everything is cool and that they’re alive. Sometimes we find people out here dead of a heart attack or something like that. You have an ID on you?”

“Yes sir, right here.” I fish around for my wallet and hand him my license.

“This is my zone, so I just like to get to know people.”

“Absolutely, I appreciate you guys looking out for us.” He eyes the trim and tidy photo on my license and looks back at the disheveled hobo before him.

“When were you born?”

“September 20th, eighty-three” I answer without hesitation. I know he’s was watching to see if I had to think about it. Just making sure I’m the same guy in the picture. He writes down the info on his notepad and walks back to his cruiser to look up my rap-sheet. When he’s satisfied, he says goodbye with a wave and drives off. If you’re running from the law, I don’t recommend going homeless. I think I’ve been questioned at least six times now.

I get a little more to eat out of my cart and head back to the library where I split the day studying and entertaining myself. It’s dark again when they close at 8:00. I eat some more as I decide what to do. I’ll want to be back down here in Miami Beach next Sunday for church again, but I don’t really have any other reason to stay here until then. I’d kind-of rather not bother with setting up the tarp again tonight, and I’m missing Haulover and my friends at Dunkin’ Donuts, so I decided to head back up that way tonight. There are fewer people at this late hour and the cooler night air makes it easier to cover the long walk without needing to stop for breaks. It’s hardly been more than an hour when I roll up to my familiar pavilion again. I eat again and roll out my pad on the bench. There’s no wind at all tonight and there’s some kind of insect taking advantage of it. It’s the kind of bug we would call “mingies” up in Maine; those tiny little things you can barely see without a microscope but with a bite like fire. My ankles and wrists seem to be their favorite. I sleep in short naps between bites till morning.

It doesn’t feel like Thursday when I wake up, but it is. I eat again. That seems to be turning into a regular habit. I’ve got a full battery on the laptop, so I pull it out and work on a little more study. I’ve been listing and comparing proof texts side-by-side for Calvinism and Armenianism. Give me a day or two, and I’m sure I’ll have this centuries-old debate completely put to rest. It’s nearing noon when my batteries are getting low and I’d like to get out on the beach again. I pack everything up and roll it all over to the beach access path. My crumpled old printout of the first few paragraphs from Romans keeps me entertained for the first several hours as I walk up and down the beach. After a while I can say quite a few verses without looking and I’m ready for something else, so I pull out a fresh pack of Greek verbs and spend several more hours strolling the beach with them. There’s plenty of cloud-cover today, so hopefully I don’t burn this time. When there’s only a few hours of daylight left I decided to head over to Dunkin’s.

I find Nichole smiling behind the counter. I had thought Theresita was going to be working today, but I find out she has transferred to another store and doesn’t work here anymore. )-: I’ll miss her. My spot on the comfy chair is taken so I settle down at a table and order a medium coffee. I notice an elderly lady is turning sideways in her chair and is staring intently at me… strange. I get up to use the restroom and when I walk back I notice she’s staring intently at me again. As I walk by she raises her hand timidly and stops me. Her voice is trembling and she speaks with a heavy Italian accent.

“You look exactly like my son.” She’s speaking in a barely audible tone and struggling with her words. “Your hair, and face and colors…” she touches her face as she speaks. “He would have been 47 this year, but he died many years ago…” Her voice cracks and there are tears in her eyes.  “What’s your name?”

“I’m Aaron, what’s yours?” I slide into the chair opposite from her.

“My name is Angela.”

“I’m very sorry about your loss.” I’m not sure what else to say to comfort this bereaved mother, but all she needs me to do is sit there as she looks into my face trembling and seeing the son she has lived without for all these years. She struggles to tell me about him, but finds it hard to speak and hold back tears at the same time. A man steps up and puts two coffees on the table, so I get up to give him his seat back. I give the mother the most comforting smile I know how to give and go back to my computer. I’ll have that image stuck in my mind for a long time of the trembling old mother struggling to hold back tears and looking deep into my face but seeing someone else she had not seen in many years.

I start writing this until closing time. I’ll head over to Win-Dixie from here. Maybe I can find a can of bug-spray to keep those mingies off me tonight. Hopefully there’s a breeze. I might grab a few groceries too, and then it’s back to the pavilion for the night.

Dec. 9 Goldilocks Church

                I it was broad daylight when I woke up on Sunday morning. It’s already sweltering hot and muggy. Last night I was looking online for a church nearby and I found a Calvary Chapel down in the North Beach area. That’s a bit far for walking, almost twice as far as the Indian Creek golf club, but I found out this week that I can ride the city busses even with my cart. I’d assumed I couldn’t, but Nichole said they would let me, so I tried it and they let me on! It’s two dollars to get on, so I’ll save it for the longer trips, but that should get me down to the church this morning.

                After a quick breakfast I head over to the bus stop. There’s a large, broad-shouldered man waiting with a small nylon backpack, a Hawaiian shirt, and greying day-old stubble.

                “Yo man, you sleepin’ out here too?” He’s got a slight New York flavor in his tone.

                “Yea, I’ve been here a week or so.”

                “Where you from?”

                “Maine, most recently.”

                “Gettin’ away from th’ cold, right? You and me both man! I’m almos outa mony tho…” He continues with the saga of his vacation down here from upstate New York. He swings his arms wildly as he talks and gestures with loud, aggressive hand motions that don’t make any sense, and he shrugs his shoulders repeatedly the whole time. Living on the street like this will make you feel like the last un-retarded person on earth.

                The bus pulls up. He climes on ahead of me and starts feeding his dollar bills into the machine while I wait on the sidewalk.

                “Hey!” The bus driver is leaning around the man and calling out to me. “You can’t get on here with that.” He points to the cart.

                “The other drivers let me on…”

                “Well that’s their problem but it’s against the rules.” He closes the door in my face and drives off. Shoot! Another bus driver might let me on, but it will be another 15 to 20 minutes, so I might as well start walking just in case the bus doesn’t work out. Within minutes my flannel shirt is soaked in sweat and I can barely keep my glasses clear from the sweat dripping from my hair. I’ll definitely have to change my shirt and clean up when I arrive at the church. Fifteen minutes later I’m twenty feet from a bus stop when the bus comes by. I’m hurrying to get to it, but it drives off again without me. Wow, I hope I don’t end up walking the whole way! I started at 8:00 and the first service doesn’t start until 9:30, so that would have been plenty of time on the bus, but if I end up walking the whole way, I’ll definitely miss the first service. There’s three services, so I’ll make it one way or another, but I didn’t refill my water before I left, so my supply is low and with the morning sun beating on my face I’m losing water in buckets. I sure hope this isn’t the morning I’m destined to meet anyone special.

                Two hours later, I’ve passed Indian Creek and given up on trying to get a bus. At least I saved my two dollars, I’ll put it in the offering, but that’s quite a church commute! The first service is already started, but I’ll be a half hour early for the second service. I’m within the northern area of Miami Beach now, and it’s definitely nicer than the Haulover area. There’s a better variety of shops and things are cleaner and better kept. After two and a half hours of walking I find the building. Around the back side, I lock my cart and pack to a steel grate and switch into a try t-shirt. Just inside the front entrance two men greet me with handshakes and a well-designed bulletin. They give me directions down the hall to a café while I wait for the next service to start. Passing down the hall, I can see classrooms filled with children in Sunday School. The café is a large, brightly-lit room with mirrors on the walls and people sitting around talking over pastries and drinks. This is nice! It’s bright, warm, and inviting. Someone knew what they were doing! Two lovely young ladies are behind the counter selling coffee and food. I order a cup of Joe and they give me friendly, helpful directions to the cream and sugar. I sit down at a small table on the wall and sip it while I watch the people engaged in conversations around the room. They’re all happy and friendly, and they’re dressed like normal people. The atmosphere feels natural and genuine, not strained or artificial like many churches.

                Within minutes, a man breaks off and introduces himself to me as Ernie. He’s greying and a little heavy-set, but full of joy and love for others. I overheard him talking earlier about how he used to be addicted to drugs and in prison and how he ministers now to help people get out of that scene. He tells me more about how he came to this church several years ago in pretty rough shape, but now works on church staff counseling and working with ex-cons like himself. When he hears about my job search, he gives me several tips for local resources, and invites me to the Tuesday night Bible study. I’m actually really looking forward to that! Before long, he excuses himself and heads over to someone else who just walked into the room. Within minutes another staff member, the youth pastor I think, sees me and comes across the room to introduce himself. It’s JP, if I remember right. Anyway, it’s two initials. He’s older than me but not by much and full of energy; within minutes I feel like he’s an old friend, but it’s time for the service to start.

                The auditorium is also well lit and inviting. The music is comfortable and modern. The worship team starts up with a few praise courses as more people come in. There’s a broad variety of blacks, whites, Latinos, and others. There’s also a spread of ages from young adults to the elderly. Half-way through the first chorus I’ve got tears in my eyes. This is so much better! I feel welcome, safe, and at-ease. When the pastor steps onto the platform he greets everyone with a warm welcome and starts into a few announcements. He’s probably somewhere between 40 & 50, but in very good physical shape and adept with communicating naturally to an audience. After the announcements he directs us to 1 Timothy 3. He’s working through the book apparently and this week places him in a difficult, controversial passage where Paul lays out the qualifications for church leadership. I’m impressed by how he holds a strong line about the expectations for God’s people, but does so with awareness, tact, and sensitivity to the modern difficulties of our culture. We wrap up with a prayerful worship song and the service is over.

                I head back to the café to refill my coffee cup and get a slice of the cheese cake they’re giving out. Ernie is still there and we talk again for a few more minutes. I think I’d actually like to go back to the 12:30 service! It’s a repeat of the same songs and message, but I just love the environment. If I stay in this area, I’m definitely looking forward to coming back to this church, and hopefully getting involved or helping out somehow.

                I have to think about what to do next. They have a Spanish service at 7:00 and I’d really like to go to that, but if I do, I need to find something to do in the area until then because I’m not making the two and a half hour trip back to Haulover only to come back tonight. Normandy Shores Golf course is nearby, and that would be a good place to look for a job, so I decide to head over there to see what I can find out. I hadn’t considered this area, yet since it was too far outside the radius of where I’d been looking, but with a nice neighborhood like this and such a great church, I can definitely see myself relocating to this area! Normandy Shores is also a privately owned island golf course. There isn’t a security gate but there’s a sign saying that only residents are allowed on the island. Oh well, I wasn’t expecting to get anywhere today anyway. I’ll find the phone number online and go that route this time instead of trying to walk out over and over again. The next things I want to check out is a library Ernie told me about. I’m there in about 20 minutes, but it’s closed for Sunday. I kind of expected that, but at least I know where it is and it definitely looks nicer than the tiny crowded library in Sunny Isles!

                With that, I decide to give up on the Spanish service and head back to Haulover for the night. If I can get on a bus I’ll go to Dunkin’ Donuts for the evening and write about this awesome day. The schedule “S” bus that I need is just pulling up to the stop in front of the library, so I get in line and pull two dollars out of my wallet.

                “Hey, I already told you, you can’t get on the bus with that!” It’s the same driver I ran into this morning! Shoot! What are the chances? It will be a while before the next bus shows up so I might as well start walking again. I REALLY hope I don’t have to walk all the way back! I notice a small park behind the library that wasn’t on the map. It separates the library from the beach. I guess I might as well check it out. There’s a path way going down to the beach and a paved jogging trail that runs parallel to the shore. There’s also several clusters of the sea-grape trees around. One of them makes a lovely little secluded shelter from the sun. My wheels are turning now. I could hang my hammock in that little patch of trees. It’s a decent place to spend the night, and tomorrow I can use the library all day! Then I’ll still be in the area for Bible study on Tuesday night, and if Indian Creek ever calls back I’m closer to them here than I am at Haulover. And this way I can go to the Spanish service tonight! Sweet! It looks like I might be relocating to this area!

                I haven’t had much to eat since breakfast so the first order of business is to get some food in me but then I go about setting up the hammock. My cousin Seth gave it to me when I was in Pennsylvania (The same one who gave me the camping stove, he’s clearly done plenty of back-packing before and knows how to find top-notch gear!). It’s made of lightweight nylon so it stuffs into a little pouch the size of a large potato, but it holds me up without a problem and it’s quite comfy. I’ve got the whole afternoon until the Spanish service at 7:00, so I do a lot of relaxing as well as reading and going through my Greek vocabulary flash cards.

                It’s starting to get dark by the time I decide to pack up and head over to the church. I find the pastor and a Latino lady standing out front and they greet me warmly. The pastor recognizes me from this morning. I try some of my rusty Spanish on the lady and explain that I studied in high-school and had many Spanish-speaking friends in college, so I’m hoping to continue working on it. I’m even impressed at myself by how much of it comes back as soon as I start hearing it again. My biggest problem has been switching out of French-mode since I’ve been studying that for the last few years. The worship team is made up of mostly the same people. The leader is obviously not a native speaker, but it’s impressive to see that he’s clearly been making a serious effort to learn the language so that he can reach out to his community. I notice that the bulletin is the exact same as this morning’s except everything is translated into Spanish. There’s a small group of about 30 when the service starts. They begin with a familiar chorus that I remember learning in Chile and I still remember the chorus well enough to sing without looking at the words.

                I’m surprised when I see the pastor step up to give the message. I had assumed they would have a different speaker, but he’s apparently the one. Apparently the church leadership has been working hard to learn Spanish and begin outreach to the Spanish-speaking people in the area. He has to mostly read the sermon from his iPad and he struggles with a little of the pronunciation, but it's impressive that he’s doing it at all! It’s the same message as this morning, so that helps me follow along better. I had been strongly considering trying to find a Spanish church in the area, but I wasn’t sure if I would understand enough to be fed, but if I stay in this area I can get both English and Spanish in the same church! This is better than I’d thought to pray for! I understand almost the whole message without much difficulty and when I talk with the others after the service I find more and more vocabulary coming back to me.

                Now I really hope I get work in this area! I’d love to live here and go to this church. Back down by the beach I sling up my hammock again. If I’m going to relocate here, I’ll have to figure out some new issues. The patch of trees doesn’t provide shelter from rain like the pavilion does, so I’ll either need to find a better spot or hassle with a tarp or something. I also miss the concrete floor and the picnic tables. This sandy ground is littered with trash and I don’t want to put anything down. I’m sure there’s been homeless people stepping into these trees and peeing, so I can’t let my things touch the ground. I’ll have to do some exploring around the area and see if I can’t turn up a better place to spend the night, but this will do for now and I’m feeling much more encouraged!

Oh! And something else! I was talking with a man at the church earlier today who works for the Miami-Dade county parks & recreation department. He told me that legislation has recently passed that forbids park rangers or cops from removing homeless people from public land unless they can provide another place to stay! That’s very encouraging news! The lady driving everyone off Haulover the other night definitely had her info wrong. (I thought so!) Now I can sleep in peace without worrying about getting run off!

With a little more to eat and few gulps of the water that I refilled at the church, I settle back into the hammock for a restful night in the ocean breeze.

I'll close up with a question: What are two or three things you look for the most in a church and what is one thing that really makes you want to leave a church? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comment box below, and if you read the blog in your email, you can load the web page by clicking HERE and enter your comment at the bottom of the page. It's optional of course, but I'd be interested to hear how some of you feel about choosing a church.